


Glue

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, F/M, constructed as hell but it's JB so what does it matter?, if you expect smut - you won't find it here, just some dirty comments and situations, maybe OOC-ish dunno, no proper use of superglue, random stuff based on random ideas, superglue of love, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime and Brienne are stuck together in a... sticky situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/gifts).



> Hello everyone! Thanks for looking into this story!
> 
> This was written because there is a need for fun-times for JB, at least in my humble opinion. And I love JB bickering way too much. 
> 
> The other characters that feature are hopefully a bit in character. 
> 
> Still no native. Still no beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> *mini spoiler*: I know this is the second time that I have some sort of confession in the bathrooms... I don't know, I just find it funny because of extra awkwardness. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> Oh yeah, I gift this to Quinn because she said she was in dire need of some fun times. I hope that this is something to your liking, dear. :D

“Okay, tell me again how a grown man doesn’t know how superglue works,” Brienne growls in a low voice, baring her teeth as she tries her best to somehow control her breathing – and keep herself from screaming, _loud_. She can feel the heat of a blush all the way to the thick column of her neck – and that doesn’t help, _at all_.

Why does it always have to be _her_?

“I _do_ know how it works. I just didn’t realize that the tube had a leak when I used it to fix my lucky charm,” Jaime insists.

“Well, no one’s asked you to put your hand…,” she mutters under her breath.

“As I said, I didn’t know I had superglue on my hand. I…”

Brienne lets out another silent scream.

Of course today, _today_ of all days, the one day she comes to the office with this stupid, stupid, _stupid_ skirt, because she was told that for the big presentation, she should dress up as fancy as she could, this has to happen. To her.

And the presentation went all fine. It was _perfect_ , indeed. Even though she had to make it with _Jaime_ of all people. Though, to his defense, Jaime is apparently… _hard-working_ against better judgment. Brienne usually tries her best to stay away from him in the office. He is just… too smooth. He knows how to charm the ladies. He knows how to charm customers. Everything he does seems so _effortless_. While Brienne has to work thrice as hard to be recognized for her good work – because she is just not as convincing as he is. She can only convince with the content of her work, but Brienne cannot really sell it. And Jaime? He makes it seem all too easy. Hence Brienne usually tries her best to stay away from this man, she knows his type all too well.

So when Tyrion, the coordinator, teamed her up with his brother (after all, the Lannister clan holds the largest share in the Iron Throne Corp), Brienne was short before throwing a tantrum.

And then she had one tantrum after the other while working with him. Because Jaime kept teasing her about her looks, her too tall frame, the way she walked, the way she talked, how she huffed too much, told her to loosen up, or rather “to get that stick out of your ass”, or how he expected her to eat like a cow and not a lady – after some many late-night working sessions to finish the project forced them to more than one round of office Chinese takeaway dinner. Oh, and how she shouldn’t frown as much because “that makes wrinkles”.

Not that Brienne is concerned with wrinkles. She’s ugly, it’s no secret. Wrinkles won’t make much of a difference in that.

“Why couldn’t you just use _normal_ glue?” Brienne mewls.

“Because my _lucky charm_ broke in two, I told you. This needed _immediate_ relief,” Jaime explains with a hint of a grin that Brienne just wants to punch out of his way too good-looking face.

“It _does_ cross your mind that this situation _needs immediate relief_ , too?” Brienne retorts angrily.

“So I have noticed,” he shrugs.

“Don’t get cocky here. You were the one to land us in this mess,” Brienne warns him in a threatening voice.

“And I apologized,” Jaime insists.

“And I don’t care. This is too embarrassing. What if someone sees us?” Brienne argues, the air catching in her throat at the mere thought.

She is ridiculed enough in life, for matters of her looks and behavior, Brienne doesn’t need even more scandals to skew the pictures others have of her even more.

“That someone would laugh, _hard_. We’d likely be gossip in the office for the next couple of weeks, months… years,” he says, his voice trailing off with a sly smile.

“Shut up!” Brienne cries out.

“Well, you had to ask,” he shrugs, his lips curled in a smug smile.

“Words can’t express how much I hate you,” Brienne exhales.

“Aw, c’mon, you love me. Everyone loves me. I have a lovable face.”

“A punchable face is what you mean.”

“You hurt me,” he argues, lifting his left hand to his chest, feigning exasperation.

“I have _any_ reason to,” Brienne argues, gesturing down.

“And you really don’t have something to spare… around?” he asks, looking around. “That seems the easiest option.”

“In fact _not_. I didn't plan on ending up in a situation like this, okay?! I thought the worst that could happen would be that I forgot the flashdrive at home. I didn't think… _this_ would ever be issue,” Brienne argues.

And is she really supposed to feel at fault now? _He_ messed up! Stupid idiot!

“Well, I got nothing to spare either,” Jaime exhales. “I left my sport gear in my car… well, and to get there… we have to make it all the way outside.”

“Which will NOT happen. But it is no matter. We are repeating information we already know. We have to get to the bathroom. I’ve read that it goes off with nail polish remover,” Brienne argues.

“And you come to have some? I never saw you putting on nail polish,” Jaime says, wrinkling his nose.

“And I don’t, but you can use it for other things as well… like getting glue off, for instance,” she huffs.

“Well, then I’d say… off to the bathrooms,” he says, meaning to gesture theatrically, but Brienne holds him off with a sharp hiss, “Do. Not. Move.”

Jaime licks his lips, running his left hand through his thick blond hair, if a little awkwardly. Brienne knows it’s ungracious to think that, but she hopes he is a bit embarrassed, too. She can’t be the only one who is embarrassed about Jaime’s hand being stuck to her skirt – and a stretch of skin on her upper thigh, in a _more_ than awkward position.

Because the fool he is, Jaime had to make it yet again a tease. Brienne had spread out a construction plan the architecture department had sent them for the upcoming project, and she just wanted to have a quick look at it. She was too absorbed in the task so that she didn’t hear Jaime sneaking up behind her, grabbing her with both hands by the waist to lean over her and say that while he enjoyed “the rare rearview”, he was not as thrilled that she was already starting a new project “without properly celebrating” with him.

Brienne wanted to swat his hand away, but it only worked with one… until she realized that the hand pulled down the stupid skirt along with it, and tugged at her own skin way too much.

“Superglue,” was the only thing Jaime had muttered and it took Brienne a couple of moments to register what that meant.

And here they are now, his hand still on her thigh, and no way to pull the hand off without causing damage to his hand, her skin, and no way for her to take the skirt off because of an apparent lack of spare clothing.  

“Well, one could say that we…,” he means to say, his voice trailing off.

“If you dare say that we are _stuck_ now, I will hit you, I am not even kidding!” Brienne warns him.

“I wanted to say that we have to _stick together_ , but,” he says, but then lets out a shriek. “OW!”

“I warned you!”

“I didn’t say what you said,” Jaime insists.

“But something to that effect.”

“Hypocrite!” Jaime argues, only to let out another shout as she hits him again. “OUCH. If you hit any harder, I will twist away and rip your skirt off with my movement, and that will be on you, then. Do you really want to rip off a part of your skin as well?”

To tell the truth, Brienne would rather wear a big band-aid for a few weeks than linger in this awkward position for much longer.

“I loathe you, so much,” she lets out a shaky breath.

“ _Loathe_ is a hard word. We are partners,” he argues, the smug smile right back in place.

“We are _not_ partners. And it’s not the matter. We have to get to the bathrooms somehow, and that without people seeing us. You tell me, how do we do that?” Brienne snaps.

 “Well, I’d just go. What’s the worst that can happen? They find out. They have a laugh at it. What do I concern myself with what those guys may think of me?” he shrugs.

“ _Well_ , it’s good to know that this does nothing to hurt your pride, but _I_ concern myself with it. I don't want to hear whispers behind my back, or rather… more of it,” Brienne hisses.

“See? That is the thing. You think your head sore about what others may think of you,” Jaime shakes his head. “That isn’t healthy.”

“And isn’t that what you do by very nature? Playing everybody’s darling in the office? Charming customers?” Brienne can’t help but retort.

Usually she knows better than to snap at people, but Jaime is driving her to the point of crazy right now, and obviously, the fact that his hand is glued to her thigh is not really helping her calm down and think this through rationally.

“That is my _job_. That is what I’m good at. I don't care if they call me an ‘asshole’ behind my back, though. In fact I know that they think I only have this position because I have Lannister as a surname, and not because I’m apparently good at my job. So really, why would I concern myself with people who think of me in such a way?” Jaime argues, now with more sincerity.

Brienne bites her lower lip. To tell the truth, she thought of him in a similar fashion for a long while, until she saw how she wasn’t the only one working extra hours even late in the evening, when everybody’s already left for home.

“Well, _I_ don’t want to be laughed at ever the more. People will talk. And people will assume things. I don’t want that. I try my best not to draw attention to myself. That worked pretty well for me up to this point,” Brienne argues, her voice quieter this time.

She had enough of bad attention back in high school and college. Brienne had hoped that a stable job with adults would finally end this problem, but far from it, or so it seems.

“What’s the worst assumption they can make? That we had some _fun times_ in the office?”

“Shut your filthy mouth already!” Brienne snaps, narrowing her blue eyes at him.

“What? Is that so entirely bad?” he huffs.

“Of course it is! What are you thinking?!”

“Aw, you hurt my feelings. I’m a good match. I come from a good family, I have the looks, and I…,” Jaime argues with fake exasperation again, but Brienne cuts him off harshly, “… don’t care. I’m not here to pet your ego. I’m stuck here with you because of your foolery and now you better think of a way to maneuver us out of this mess without making us both a joke in the office, or else you won’t witness the next day.”

“You know, you just said that you are stuck with me,” Jaime smiles.

“Do I really have to hit you again?” Brienne warns him.

“Is that a kink of yours?” he chuckles with a dirty grin, only to earn himself another punch in the arm. “Ow! Okay, I really deserved that one, I suppose.”

“We are still nowhere closer to a solution, you do realize? Use your head and… BY THE SEVEN, stop that!” Brienne cries out once she can feel his fingers prodding at her thigh.

“I’m not doing that on purpose. My hand’s falling asleep because this is no natural position,” he retorts. And seemingly to prove his point, he wriggles his fingers around another time.

“Stop it!”

“What? Do you like it?” he teases.

“I could also cut your hand off, you know?” Brienne says, breathing through her nostrils.

“For that you need a sword at least… _oh_. I sometimes forget that you have one for decoration,” Jaime makes a face. Indeed she has one in her office.

“That’s right,” Brienne replies with an angry smile.

“I’m trying not to, but I can’t make any promises. I can’t even feel my hand anymore,” Jaime argues, now with more sincerity in his voice.

“Well, ever the more a reason to think about a way to get to the bathrooms and then work it out,” Brienne replies stubbornly. If he believes he will get any empathy from her for his fingers going numb, he is mistaken.

This is all _his_ fault.

“Can’t we just do it here?” he argues.

“With the huge window to the office as well as the one in the back you mean?” Brienne huffs, gesturing around. In fact, they are pretty much sitting in a glasshouse.

“I suppose that’s a case in point. Okay… how about we pick up a box together, you put your jacket over it and then we try to act natural and walk to the bathrooms?” he suggests.

“… Well, it’s better than nothing,” Brienne sighs. “We’ll take the box on my table. It should be big enough.”

She motions to stand up from her chair, after Brienne instantly sat down once she realized that Jaime got his hand stuck on her, and pulled him along down, so that they sat behind the desk to at least shut down the view for the people in the office.

“Ow,” she hisses as Jaime isn’t fast enough to follow, which means that his hand tugs at her skin.

This is torture.

This is hell.

“Sorry. You should warn me before you make fast movements,” he replies. Brienne rolls her eyes as she leans over the table to grab the box, then her jacket, and tosses the bottle of nail polish remover into the box as well.

“Okay, that should do,” Brienne mutters, glancing behind them to see if one can see his hand on her thigh, which the jacket, gladly, seems to cover up for good.

“Then… let’s go to the… bathroom…,” she goes on. “Seriously, I hate you for this. For all of this. And your stupid lucky charm.”

“Insult me, but not my lucky charm.”

“Couldn’t you just use regular glue?”

“Regular glue wouldn’t hold,” Jaime insists as they start to exit the office, and now walk past the cubicles of the bullpen. Brienne is honestly glad that she got a promotion a year ago, which freed her from the shackles of the cubicles. Her office is smaller than Jaime’s, which is why they spent most of the time in his office, but since the project they prepared for today took about a month of preparation, she moved a lot of things into the office so that she wouldn’t  have to go back and forth for say, a bottle of nail polish remover.

“Mr. Lannister, Ms. Tarth! On a word!”

Jaime and Brienne whip their head around simultaneously to see Mace Tyrell, one of the most influential shareholders of the company, approach.

That’s all they needed right now.

Brienne can feel her spine straighten up to the point that it hurts her back, simultaneously cursing Jaime for somehow managing to keep so relaxed and laid-back in such a situation.

“I wanted to congratulate you two to this _wonderful_ presentation,” he goes on, extending his hand to Jaime, who somehow manages to make it look natural that he can only extend his left hand to him, if in a slightly awkward position. “Sorry, heavy box.”

“Oh, so are you two already launching a new project? How _exciting_. I didn't hear about that!”

Well, probably because he’s usually on business trips for the matter. Mace gives money to the company, which earns him the spot he has, but he has little to no clue how this company actually works.

As the Dothraki like to say: It is known.

“We _hope_. Brienne was so kind to give me a quick briefing. A very interesting project indeed. I am quite… _attached_ to it already,” Jaime tells him with a smug smile.

Brienne suppresses her urge to nudge him in the side, but chooses to ignore him as Mace extends his hand to her as well. Brienne shakes hands with him briefly, feeling her cheeks fill with blood. She is probably red like a tomato.

And all of it is Jaime’s fault.

“Well, I surely hope that you will get to work together in the future as well. I just come from the negotiations. And the deal we were able to seal is about twenty percent higher than the one we estimated. The content as well as the presentation were utterly convincing, or so it seems, at least that is what our customers said,” Mace goes on, smiling contently.

“We will have to see about that,” Brienne replies, her voice slightly shaking. “After all, it’s not up to us to decide on these matters.”

“Of course, but I have already put in a good word for you two,” Mace argues.

“Oh, have you?” Jaime chuckles.

“Why yes? You complement each other. That’s quite rare and very advantageous to the company. You can’t buy chemistry, but you two have it. This project showed it. It appears that your brother had the rights of it,” Mace goes on. "I must admit, I wasn't convinced of his plan at first, but... he proved us wrong."

“Oh, don’t let him hear that. Or else he’ll go on boasting forever. I won’t ever see the end of it,” Jaime argues with an easy smile.

“Oh, I’m sure that after today he’s aware of that already.”

“Well, without meaning to appear impolite, Mr. Tyrell, we gotta be on our way. You see, the box is heavy and we have a _tight_ schedule,” Jaime tells the other man, gesturing at the box.

“Oh, of course, of course. You see, back when I was…,” Mace means to say, and both know exactly that this will end in another monolog of his, so Jaime is quick enough to interrupt him, “Thank you another time. We’ll be on our way.”

Mace looks a little disappointed, but seemingly knows better than to let it show. Brienne and Jaime walk away as fast as they can, hoping that they will make it to the bathroom without further interruptions.

“Does that seriously mean I’ll have to work with you even for the next project?” Brienne exhales.

Her plan was actually give him a wide berth from this day forth.

“He’s a shareholder. If he puts it forward to the bosses, who knows?” Jaime shrugs.

“Gods.”

“What? He has the rights of it, we…,” Jaime means to argue, but Brienne cuts him off, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“And that all because of one tiny mishap.”

“ _Tiny mishap_? You glued your friggin’ hand to my…,” Brienne growls under her breath, but then Jaime interrupts her in a loud and cheery voice, “Brother dearest!”

Brienne whips her head around to see Tyrion standing in front of them.

Why do people suddenly want to talk to them when they usually don’t?

Why today?

Why now?

 _Why_?

“Ah, good that I catch you two. I just came out of the meeting. The deal went better than could be estimated,” Tyrion says with a grin.

“Mace filled us in just a minute ago,” Jaime nods.

“Father seemed pretty pleased as well. You should prepare yourself for more cooperation in the near future. Once he sees a way to make money, he'll damn well make use of it, you know that,” Tyrion warns him.

“Which is what Mace implied as well,” Jaime says.

“Brother dearest, I get the feeling that you are somewhat distressed?” Tyrion tilts his head, tease in his voice.

Brienne grimaces. That seems to be a family trait.

Tyrion is known for reading people like no one else. That is why he is supposed to handle the staff in the company. He knows the people there, he knows people in general, and he knows who works best with whom.

“No, we just want to get this stupid box to the car and it’s damn heavy, but people keep us from it,” Jaime says.

“You can always put it down,” Tyrion suggests, to which Brienne shrieks, “No!”

“What?” Tyrion makes a face. Brienne’s eyes open wide.

He’ll find out.

He’ll find out.

They are dead.

“There are some very fragile goods in there. We just want to be quick about bringing them into the car, where there’s a nice cushion for it all,” Jaime jumps in, since Brienne is stuck in a paralysis, mentally going through all worst case scenarios that come to mind.

“And what are you transporting?” Tyrion questions, looking at Brienne.

Of course.

He senses her weakness.

“I…,” she mutters, but Jaime jumps in once more, “She’s ordered a model for the next bigger project. The architecture department sent it with some other things. For the presentation, this might come in handy, which is why we are very careful with it.”

“Aha,” Tyrion nods slowly, though he doesn’t seem to believe it.

“So, if you excused us?” Jaime says with a small smile.

“Oh, by any means. If a _model_ is _that_ heavy…,” Tyrion chuckles softly.

“It’s quite heavy, yes.”

“In any case: Good work, you two. We’ll see more of that in the future if I can help it,” Tyrion says.

“One can always rely on you, brother.”

“I’ll see you later, then, or tomorrow. In case you want to take off early today to celebrate the success,” Tyrion suggests.

“We might think about that…,” Jaime shrugs.

“Very well. See you, then.”

“Bye.”

With that the younger brother heads his ways and Brienne finally feels like she can breathe again.

“This is hell. This is punishment. This is for every wrong I have ever done in my life,” she rambles.

“What? _You_ doing wrong? That seems entirely impossible. You are the embodiment of stubborn righteousness.”

“You don't know me,” Brienne shakes her head.

“In the office, I probably know you better than most people,” Jaime argues. "And arguably, I am the only one in the office."

“ _Right_.”

“What? We’ve spent so much time in my office together…,” he means to say, but Brienne cuts him off yet again, “Just shut up and get going.”

“As m’lady commands.”

“I’m _not_ your lady.”

“Fine, does ‘wench’ sound better to you?” he huffs.

“Brienne would be fine.”

“ _Brienne_ ," he says, stressing each syllable.

At last, at last the bathroom comes into sight.

“Okay, now what?” Brienne says, trying to focus on the immediate matters.

“What?” he makes a face.

“… Your plan has one huge hole in it: Do we go for the ladies or the gents?” Brienne says, gesturing at either sign on the wall.

“I really should have voted for those unisex bathrooms back when it was up for debate,” Jaime tilts his head to the side slightly. “Well, if I get caught in the lady’s bathroom, I may easily get charged for sexual harassment…”

“Because your hand in the place it is currently at is _not_?” Brienne huffs.

“That was _not_ intentional,” Jaime argues.

“If you say so,” Brienne mutters under her breath.

“So yeah, let’s go with the gents,” Jaime says before walking forward. Brienne tries her best to keep as much distance between him as he stick his head inside.

“The coast is clear.”

Brienne lets out a small squeal as he pulls her inside, since she was more preoccupied looking around for someone to catch her entering the bathroom.

They put down the box and the jacket on the floor and Brienne fishes out the material they need to un-glue them, before Jaime fishes a key out of his pocket, “It _does_ pay off to be a Lannister. You have the master key to the rooms.”

Brienne lets a silent prayer to the Seven Heavens as he locks the door. That means they won’t have to fear that someone just walks in on them. They step over to the large marble sink, but before Brienne can even protest, Jaime lifts her on the marble plate. She lets out a louder squeal this time.

“I am tired of swatting my knees. That should be the best position. I mean, I usually like to be on the top, but for not I can live with that.”

Brienne’s mouth falls open for a moment, but then she gathers herself again.

 _Focus_.

This is not out of the movies where the guy picks up the girl in a romantic way. They are glued together, in a men’s bathroom. This is _terrible_.

Brienne uncaps the nail polish remover bottle and pours a good amount on some swabs she has in the office for reasons she can’t even pinpoint anymore. Brienne has a whole lot of clubber in the office, even if it’s all neatly packed away. She is rather prepared for everything.

Just that she didn’t prepare for Jaime to stick his hand threateningly close to her ass.

So much to that.

Brienne shakes her head as she dabs the swab where Jaime’s hand is glued right to her skin – better get _that_ bit off first.

“Well, seems like we will continue to work _very_ closely together from this day forth,” Jaime says after a long moment of silence, and if Brienne is not mistaken, he actually says it because he is slightly uncomfortable because of the situation himself.

“And aren’t you annoyed about that?” she snorts.

“Why?” Jaime grimaces.

“Well, your constant complaining about me gave me a sure sign that you were happy to finally finish up this project for good,” Brienne retorts.

She _really_ usually doesn’t talk that openly about these matters, but Brienne is fed up with this, the situation, the glue, the skirt, Jaime’s smug grin, she is embarrassed, and she still feels the blush all over her body, and the fact that he can probably not just see but also feel it makes it ever the more worse.

So no, Brienne is past the point of holding her tongue.

“Ugh, of course you never understand a tease,” he exhales.

“I _do_ understand a tease every once in a while, but you make fun of me and mock me _all_ the time. Am I to interpret that as you enjoying working with me?” Brienne replies.

“ _Yes_? I bicker and I have a foul mouth, what can I say?” he argues.

“There is a difference between having a foul mouth and constantly insulting people,” Brienne argues, before she goes on mimicking him, “ _Brienne, your hair’s a mess. Brienne, don’t make such a sour face. That makes you look ugly. **Wench** , you should wear another color. Green does nothing for you._”

“I tease people I find interesting,” Jaime argues with a sly smile, seemingly amused at her reenactment. “And to my defense: When I told you that green doesn’t suit you, I told you to wear more blue. That’ll bring out the color of your eyes ever the more, trust me in this.”

“Now don’t tell me I’m supposed to take _that_ as a compliment,” she rolls her eyes at him.

“You should. I don’t insult people in the office because I give no single damn on either one of them. _You_? You are interesting. So _of course_ I have to tease you,” he explains, as though it was the most natural and logical thing in the world.

“Well, maybe for future reference, not all people think that teasing is the same as telling someone that you enjoy working with them or so. In fact, you make them believe that you hate them,” Brienne tells him.

“You think I hate you?” he makes a face.

“I didn’t say that,” Brienne shakes her head slightly.

“That would have been world-shattering. I am used to people hating me. But to think that _you_ hate me? That’s scary,” he makes a face.

Is he… serious now? Brienne can’t tell.

“Why would it be scary?” she asks in a smaller voice.

“As I said, I find you interesting. You are one of the few people who are actually doing their job outright. That’s rare enough.”

“Oh yeah, great surprise right there,” Brienne snorts.

That’s what she is always associated with, hard-working, stubbornly hard-working, no social life, no social skills, pick one.

“I bet you always wrote ten extra pages on essays to get better grades back in high school,” he chuckles amused.

“And I bet you always only wrote as much as was required, or even less, and did the rest with your natural charm,” she huffs.

“Did you just say that I am charming? Aw,” he teases.

“No.”

“Yes, you did!” he grins smugly.

“Just like I said that I _loathe_ you.”

“That was in the heat of the moment,” he grins.

“ _That_ is a general attitude,” Brienne retorts. Jaime just shakes his head with an easy smile.

“I still have no idea how you got this glue all over your hand and didn’t realize it until you grabbed me,” Brienne says, shaking her head, trying to focus on the source of her frustration, the glue keeping her from aborting the mission and leaving this entire situation for good.

“It had already dried halfway, or so I believed. I thought it was all good. Well, and then the opportunity arose and I forgot until I… got _stuck_ ,” Jaime replies.

At last Jaime’s pinkie and ring finger come off her leg. Brienne lets out a sigh of relief. That still leaves the rest of the hand stuck to her skirt, but at least there is now… cloth between them. And glue.

“Finally.”

“I was really surprised by the skirt, I must say,” he goes on.

“What now? That I wear one?” Brienne huffs angrily.

She knows she doesn’t act like a woman, just like she doesn’t look like a good-looking woman either, but why is it always an issue for other people if she _does_ conform to the norm?

No matter what she does, people always get her wrong.

“I was surprised that someone could talk you into a fashion choice. I thought you’d never conform just because people ask you for it,” he shrugs.

“ _I_ found it proper because it was a business meeting and we were supposed to sell a certain product,” Brienne argues. “That wasn’t because someone specifically demanded it of me.”

“And of course there’s the length…,” Jaime says, his voice trailing off as his grin gets dirtier and broader with every second passing.

“Oh, shut your mouth!” Brienne pouts.

“What? It _is_ rather short!”

“Because I am tall and that makes almost any skirt look short on me. And because I only own this one skirt, which I didn’t even pick out myself. Margaery said it looked fine and was appropriate for such occasion. Well, and then I made one fatal mistake, and that was to wash it at a too high temperature, and I wasn’t ready to buy a new one, and neither did I have the time last night,” Brienne explains.

It’s a plain black skirt reaching down to below half her thigh. Admittedly, it has a quite deep cut, but that’s really the only reason why she bought it – because it allowed her to move around freely.

And then it shrunk a bit when she washed it the night before because she found a stain on it.

So now it’s a bit shorter, a bit tighter, but it _worked_.

Or so she thought.

Was Brienne supposed to foresee that Jaime would grab her in such a stupid angle to get his hand glued right on the cut, _really_?

“Oh, so that’s why. I already wondered why it was so _form-fitting_ ,” Jaime chuckles with an even dirtier grin.

“Keep your spiteful glee to yourself.”

“This is not at all spiteful!”

“Whatever,” Brienne shakes her head.

“I will buy you a new skirt, of course,” Jaime then says.

“You will _not_ ,” Brienne snaps.

“What? After that it won’t be usable anymore. I don’t want to owe you a debt,” he insists.

“It’s alright,” Brienne replies defensively.

“It’s not. As you said, it’s your only skirt. You need a skirt,” Jaime argues.

“I will wear long pants for the rest of my life past this day, trust me. This won’t ever happen again. One time is enough,” Brienne huffs.

“That’d be a pity.”

“Could you just stop making fun of me, for once?” Brienne can’t help but say.

Her patience is wearing thin.

“I’m not making fun of you,” he insists.

“ _Right_ ,” she snorts.

“What?”

“You said it yourself. You like to make fun of me. For whatever reason you want to name now. So, since you are all up for fun, could you just drop the act of meaning to make this more serious? It’s a _joke_.”

Jaime Lannister finding attractive in her wearing a skirt? Brienne is not blind to what beauties roam around the office. Jaime could have every single one of them if he wanted.

“You are the one to talk, Princess.”

“Don’t call me ‘Princess’,” Brienne argues.

And what is that supposed to mean?

“What? You actually have a royal name, as far as I’m concerned. Brienne _of_ Tarth. Tarth’s one of the oldest noble houses in the Stormlands.”

“Did you google that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your brother.”

“Exactly.”

“We own an old castle and got the name, that’s all. I bet the Lannister Empire has more to show,” Brienne argues. “Your family is one of the oldest and used to put up the Wardens of the West for hundreds of years.”

“Ha. Does that mean you did research on me, too? How flattering. But yeah. You should see Father’s residence. It’s full of antiquities to show that we are of such descent. It’s _insane_.”

“Well, some hold up their family name quite proudly. My father’s no different,” Brienne shrugs.

“So you _are_ a princess!”

“No.”

“Heiress?”

“No.”

“Well, that really just leaves ‘lady’ or ‘wench’,” he concludes.

“You won’t call me ‘wench’!” Brienne argues vehemently.

He does often enough, no need to encourage him!

Brienne dabs more and more remover over the skirt and his hand, hoping that the two will finally come apart, but no such luck. She’s stuck here for even longer.

With stupid wordplays on glue and being stuck.

Great. Just great.

“In any case, since you seemingly try to get off the hook here, I didn’t mean it as a joke,” Jaime goes on, his voice somewhat changing, though Brienne can’t put her finger on it what that tone may imply.

“That you want to see me in a skirt so you can embarrass me all over? I am aware that you are probably excited about that option for yet another tease of yours,” she rolls her eyes.

Brienne is yet again left with letting out a small squeal as Jaime suddenly twists her body around on the marble sink to face towards him. She didn’t know he was that strong, really.

She gulps as his darting green eyes settle on her blue ones.

“I think we have to get one or two things straight,” he says, his eyes almost piercing right through her. The air catches in her throat. She knows he can be very serious if he wants to be, but she’s never… seen it with such intensity.

“Which would be?” she asks, swallowing, trying her best not to give away any sign of intimidation. She shall be damned if he feels like he is winning here.

He messed up.

It’s him.

He is in the wrong.

It’s him.

Always him.

“Oftentimes I joke. And even when I’m serious I’m likely going to joke and tease.”

“Newsflash,” Brienne huffs.

“But some things I do mean as I say them. If I say that I mean it – then I _mean_ it,” he goes on. “That’s actually easy enough a rule to follow, don’t you agree?”

“Good for you, then,” she huffs. “So, if you had the piety to let me continue un-gluing us? Because I do _mean_ to make that happen.”

Brienne already means to turn back around to continue dabbing at the skirt, when suddenly she finds a hand cupping her chin and pulling her to Jaime’s lips. Brienne can do nothing but stare once she realizes that Jaime is kissing her right now, a bruising kiss that takes her breath away.

While they are both still glued together.

In a bloody bathroom.

Just how insane is this world today?

But what is perhaps the even more insane thing is that she can’t seem to pull away but finds herself responding to him as though it was something utterly natural.

Because it’s most definitely _not_.

What brings her out of the moment is when she feels his still glued hand moving further… up. She pushes away from him, then, and if she is not mistaken, there is a flash of disappointment crossing his handsome face as she does.

“Okay, what the bloody hell was that?” she demands.

“A kiss, as far as I’m concerned,” Jaime replies with a smug grin.

“You damn well know how I mean it!” Brienne argues, the words pouring out of her mouth like acid. “Why do you… kiss me… in a situation like this?”

“You can’t run away?”

Brienne rolls her eyes.

“What I mean to say… I guess I just sought the opportunity a second time,” Jaime explains.

“… The other time being when you just grabbed me from behind in an absolutely inappropriate way?” Brienne huffs.

 _This_ really has to be a joke. Jaime can flirt and charm like a reborn version of a Casanova if he must, but with _her_ the best he can think of is grabbing her from behind and kissing her in a situation that is absolutely not appropriate? _Really_?

This has to be a joke, and it’s not even a funny one.

“At some point it gets pretty hard convincing you that you are desirable, in case you haven’t noticed,” Jaime then says.

“… W, what?” Brienne stammers.

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean. I can literally hear the wheels turning inside your head right now. Your brain does not compute the connection between you and being desired,” Jaime tells her.

Brienne can do nothing but stare.

Where does that come from all of a sudden???

“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve been trying to hit on me… this whole time?” Brienne makes a face as though she just swallowed a fly.

“Not this whole time. In the beginning of our cooperation, I found you damn annoying,” Jaime shrugs his shoulders. "The loathing was very strong in the beginning, not gonna lie."

“And vice-versa,” Brienne huffs.

“So I thought,” he chuckles. “But yeah. I did mean it back then when I made it clear that I didn’t want to work with you. You always gave me those judging glances.”

“And I thought you don't care of people judging you?” Brienne can’t help but retort.

“Yeah, but _you_ judging me never sat right with me,” Jaime replies simply. “I suppose it had to do with the fact that I knew you were hard-working and honest to the bone. I don't like being judged by people who may have authority to judge me. So no. I didn’t want to work with you about as much as you didn’t want to work with me. But the more we worked together… well, the less I hated working with you – and in fact found myself enjoying your odd company more than I ever thought possible. Crucify me.”

Brienne bites her lower lip. Truth be told, in the beginning, she also thought it simply impossible to work with Jaime, but the more they worked together, the easier it got, despite the teases and japes. He knew things she didn’t. He was helpful when she didn’t expect it. And between the bickers, she was more than surprised to find out that he seems to share not just a few interests with her, but also some general attitudes.

Not that she’d ever say that out loud.

“… In any case, I actually wanted to ask you out for a drink tonight, after we wrapped up the project. Knowing you, you wouldn’t have agreed to a drink before the presentation. For that you are too much of a perfectionist.”

“Please don't tell me that you glued yourself to me to achieve just that,” Brienne exhales wearily.

“Obviously not. How stupid do you think I am?” he snorts.

“Very?” she huffs. Jaime lets out an amused laugh at that.

“I was telling you the truth. I didn’t plan on… _that_. I planned on drinks. I wanted to tease you a bit and then ask you out. One has to catch you off-guard to make you agree to anything,” Jaime goes on to explain, to which Brienne can only frown, “How would you know that?”

“How many times did I convince you to let me drive you home when we worked extra hours?”

“A couple of times, why?” Brienne shrugs.

“How many times did that follow after a tease of mine?”

Brienne wrinkles her nose, contemplating, running through the past few weeks, and those awkward rides home… and how often he teased her or said something mean to…

In fact… _oh damn_.

“My brother’s not the only one who’s good at this,” Jaime goes on.

“Just that your brother probably knows how to use superglue,” Brienne retorts.

“That may be,” Jaime says with an easy smile.

“This simply can’t be true.”

“I know, realizing one’s own predictability is pretty tough to stomach.”

“What now?” Brienne looks at him.

“You do realize that you make me act in predictable ways, too?”

“… Not on purpose,” Brienne argues, the words dribbling slowly out of her mouth.

Needless to mention that she didn’t predict _any_ of this here.

“Which makes it ever the worse. If you did it on purpose, then it’d be lack of skill for me, but you just do this _naturally_. I don’t know how you do it, and you seemingly don't know either, but I never would have worked as many extra hours on this damned project, had you not, ugh, done _this_ right now,” he says, gesturing at her, his face suddenly somewhat angry and frustrated… with himself.

“What am I doing right now?” Brienne pulls the corners of her mouth into a deep frown.

“That. Your face. Your eyes,” Jaime says, pointing at her. “Seriously, woman, you have to realize that your eyes are a weapon.”

Brienne just shakes her head. This is utterly surreal. And stupid.

He can't mean that.

“As I said, you are interesting. I don’t know how you do some many things. And I want to get to the bottom of it. And I thought I might get to some of that bottom after reaching the bottom of a good bottle of wine.”

“… if you think this came out smooth, you are mistaken,” Brienne snorts.

“Pun not intended.”

“You believe that yourself?”

“I thought I sounded pretty convincing,” Jaime shrugs with a grin.

“You didn’t.”

“See? We do know each other after all,” Jaime says with a broader smile.

“I…,” she means to say, when suddenly there is a loud banging on the door.

“Hey, unlock the door already! People need to use that bathroom!”

If Brienne is not mistaken, that should be Meryn Trant. A lapdog out of the handbook, and always up for a fight if you give him a reason. Overall, he is one of those people Brienne gives a wide berth in the office… and in personal life.

“You should use the one upstairs. This one’s flooded!” Jaime calls out. Brienne blinks at him. He holds up his free hand and wriggles his index finger at her, gesturing her to wait.

“Flooded?!” Meryn cries out in exasperation.

“I tell you, my shoes are _soaked_. I called in the janitor already. I am supposed to keep the door closed until he comes, or else we’ll have nasty water all over the floor,” Jaime goes on.

“Shit!”

“That too!” Jaime says in a straight voice, though Brienne can see the broad grin tugging at his lips. She just covers her mouth with her hand.

“Whatever, then.”

“Whatever to you, too. It was nice talking to you!” Jaime says in a loud voice. They can hear him walking off, grumbling to himself as he does.

“That wasn’t very kind of you,” Brienne says, pulling her hand away again.

“Not very kind of me was to leave out the bit of information where the other restroom upstairs is _in fact_ clogged, like, every single one,” Jaime says with a dark grin.

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“You’re impossible.”

“What happened to you loathing me?” he argues, his grin growing smugger with every second passing.

“I still loathe you, no worries,” Brienne huffs.

“Even after that amazing kiss?”

“After you glued your hand to my skirt and my thigh? Yeah, still loathing.”

“Well, maybe we could change loathing into lov…,” he means to say as he moves closer another time, but that is when Brienne can feel his hand slipping off her skirt.

“It worked!”

“Way to destroy the moment!” he grunts.

“That was _no_ moment. That was us, stuck in a bathroom, glued together,” Brienne corrects him.

“And what about that epic kiss?”

“In a bathroom? Glued together?”

“For that you were pretty _responsive_ ,” Jaime argues with a dirty grin. Brienne nudges him with her elbow, “As I said. Still loathing. Still your fault. And I daresay that it’s pretty weak of you that whatever advances you made on me just now, or claim to have made on me, are supposed to be the top of your charming skills.”

Jaime lets his mouth fall open, though a smile tugs at his lips.

At some point Brienne is uncertain where her own confidence suddenly comes from, but… she can’t deny that she feels much more at ease with this now.

“If you could move aside now? I’d like to get off the sink,” she says before she slips off the marble sink, glancing down her skirt. “Yeah, that one will go into the trashcan.”

“Or a bedroom floor.”

“You wish.”

“Indeed.”

“Not happening.”

“You say so _now_. You only got a first glance, or rather taste, of my skill. Once you…,” he means to say, but she interrupts him, “Not interested.”

“Of course you are!”

Brienne shakes her head as she bends down to pick up the box and her jacket. She does quick work to wrap it around her waist to cover up the glue stain. She straightens back up, grimacing to herself for a moment.

Can it really be true that Jaime, everybody’s charming darling, failed charming her and hence was… clumsy? Jaime Lannister clumsy? Is that even possible? Or are the glue fumes just messing with her brains? Or his? Or both?

“… Okay, you know what?” Brienne finds herself say before her mind can even think this through properly. “I could use a drink. If you did mean it, tonight would be the night to have one.”

Brienne doesn’t turn to him, only now realizing that she just said what she said, in a confident voice.

How’s that possible?

“Does that mean you’re granting me a second chance?” he chuckles softly.

“… That means you better live up to what you’ve just told me,” Brienne tells him. “Or else working with me for the upcoming projects will be one pain in the ass for you, trust me in this. I will make it living hell for you.”

“You put me under pressure.”

“You work best under pressure.”

“Is that so?”

“… You’re not the only one who knows how to observe people,” Brienne says, her voice slightly betraying her. She wants to act confident right now, but it’s still rather difficult for her. If Jaime finds it funny by any means, he has the grace not to show it. Instead, he smiles at her rather happily, “Are you suggesting a date, _Brienne_ , is that it?”

And the way he says her name makes the small hairs in her neck stand upright, but she doesn’t let it on, or at least Brienne hopes so.

“I say that I’m getting a drink. Right now. If you join or not is up to you. After today's experience, I definitely need some alcohol.”

With that she walks ahead, trying her best to fight the blush creeping up the column of her neck. Brienne never-ever did that in her entire life. And probably won’t ever again because she will probably die of embarrassment tonight, once she has time to mull all of this over.

At some point she doesn’t even know what she’s thinking. Jaime Lannister tagging after her of all people? _Right_.

What do people say? People do outrageous things in outrageous situations? Something to that effect.

But then she feels his hand in the small curve of her hip.

“Let me get the door for you.”

“Are we trying to act like a gentleman now?” Brienne huffs.

“I am a gentle man.”

“Yeah? I didn’t get to see much of that until now.”

“Well, I will prove it to you once we get to a bar... or your home. Or mine. Whichever you prefer.”

The lock opens and Brienne opens her mouth for another quip, but then finds her lips back on his as he pulls her to him for a brief moment, his hand resting on the door handle.

“And before you ask, I _meant_ that one.”

“You won’t do that once we are outside," Brienne warns him, fighting the blush creeping up her entire body.

“I make no guarantees. I told you, it’s hard for me to resist. Why else would I have gotten us glued together?”

“Oh, so it was no accident after all?”

“It was! It’s just that I’m drawn to you, or so it appears. However awkward that may be for the both of us, or however awkward that may make us.”

“Make one more joke about being stuck or drawn together or whatever else and I will smack you in front of the entire staff.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“No drinks, then."

“Now that isn’t fair!” he pouts.

The two exit as they go on arguing and bickering. Brienne nudges him whenever he tries to take the box from her or wrap his arm around her waist.

And Brienne, for some reason, finds herself at ease with that.

It’s not like this is nothing she isn’t used to, in fact.

… He said that he meant it, right?

And even if not… well, she can still give him the Seven Hells and back if he treats her wrong. After all, they’ll continue to see each other every day no matter what becomes of that night out in a bar.

Or she can glue his hand to the table or so. After all, this glue seems to work miracles.

“… Obviously, I’ll be paying for the drinks.”

“You will not. I pay my own drinks. We don’t live in the Middle Ages, okay?”

“Princess, you hurt me. I want to prove it to you that I’m a complete gentleman. You have to give me a chance.”

“I don’t have to give you anything. And stop calling me 'Princess'! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Aw, wench, c’mon. You like it, you can deny it, but I know you do.”

“You know nothing.”

“I do know what it feels like to…”

“Finish that sentence and you will spend the night in the office because that’s how long it will take for you to regain consciousness.”

“Are you sure this violent behavior is no sexy kink of yours? Oh well, I suppose I’m about to find out soon enough.”

“Only in your dreams.”

“I have my ways of convincing you, I told you.”

“I want to see you try.”

"Oh, so you want it after all? That makes it ever the easier for me."

"You won't manage. It's just drinks."

“Is that a challenge, m'lady?”

“One you will not win.”

“You say so _now_. You shouldn’t ever challenge me on such matters. I am going to win, I swear.”

“You will not.”

“You go on believing that.”

“ _You_ go on believing that.”

“No, you.”

“ _You_.”

And in the background, Tyrion shakes his head as he watches his brother taking off with his project partner.

“Took them long enough. By the Seven.”

Tyrion whistles to himself as he heads his ways again.

A complaint reached him that all bathrooms are either flooded or shut down.

And if he is not mistaken, that may have to do with the new “dream-team”.

Oh, his brother won’t ever see the end of it, that much is for certain.  


End file.
